With all the strength he had, he threw the spear.
At the age of five, said strength was not much. However, he made up for it in precision. The metal tip of the spear penetrated the lIngta’ directly in its crown. The beast fell to the ground.
The need for stealth now past, both the boy and his mother ran toward the stream. The animal was still alive, but bleeding profusely from the wound in its head. It lay next to the stream, legs twitching. Mother snapped its neck.
Placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder, Mother said, “Your first kill, my son. Be proud—today, at last, you are a hunter. You have taken another step on the path to becoming a true warrior.”
The boy proudly replayed those words in his mind over and over again as he carried the lIngta’ corpse across his shoulders back to the tent where Father awaited them both.
“You have brought dinner, I see,” Father said in his usual booming voice—one of many reasons why it had been Mother, rather than Father, who taught him how to hunt. Father would stomp through the underbrush and scare away every game animal for three qelIqamsaround within minutes of his hunt commencing.
However, few compared to Father when it came to preparation of the food. Over the next hour, he showed the boy how to skin the lIngta’, the best way to strip the meat from the bone, the proper removal of the head, and so much more.
As they feasted on the lIngta’ while sitting around a fire that was more for warmth than illumination—it barely provided more light than the three moons and the stars—the boy turned to his parents and asked them for a story.
“A new one,” he said. “One you’ve never told before.” It was a bold request, but he felt he had earned the right to be bold after his first hunt.
Father threw his head back and laughed, his voice echoing off the trees and hills. “Very well, my boy, you shall have your wish.” He gnawed on a piece of lIngta’. “Shall we tell him of Kahless and Lukara at Qam-Chee?”
“I know that one,” the boy said impatiently.
“Perhaps the tale of the victory over the Romulans at Klach D’Kel Bracht?”
“I know that one, too.”
“Or maybe Captain Kang’s victory over the creature that fed on warfare?”
The boy knew now that his father was stringing him along. “I know that one, too. A newstory, Father!”
Again, Father laughed. Mother said, “Tell him of Ch’gran, husband.”
Blinking, the boy said, “I do not know that one. What is Ch’gran?”
Father swallowed a gulp of stream water from his mug before commencing.
“Over a thousand turns past, after the time of Kahless, the Homeworld was attacked by the Hur’q. Fierce marauders from beyond the stars themselves, they plundered what they could take and destroyed what they could not plunder.”
“They took the Sword of Kahless,” the boy said impatiently. “You’ve told this story before, Father. I knowthis.”
Smiling, Father said, “And do you know what happened next?”
“I—” The boy hesitated. Whenever Father or anyone else had told the story of the Hur’q, it ended with their disappearance, having devastated the First City and taken dozens of artifacts, including Kahless’s bat’leth.
“Well?”
Lowering his head, the boy said quietly, “No, I do not.”
“Then listen, child, and learn of our people. After the Hur’q left, a great warrior named Ch’gran urged our people to move to the stars—for only by conquering space could we truly become strong, only by taming the stars could we be all that Kahless promised, and only by expanding beyond our Homeworld could we hope to avenge ourselves upon the Hur’q. Besides, we had lost so much to the Hur’q that our best course of action was to find new worlds to provide the resources that the Hur’q’s pillage had taken from us.
“And so Ch’gran spearheaded the construction of seven great ships. On the anniversary of the Hur’q’s arrival on Qo’noS, Ch’gran ventured forth to the black sky to conquer the stars on behalf of the Klingon peoples.”
“What happened?” the boy asked, enraptured.
In a surprisingly low whisper, Father said, “No one knows. Their last words were that they found a world on which to plant our flag. But that was all they said, and then Ch’gran and his seven mighty vessels disappeared, never to be heard from again.”
“Not quitenever,” Mother said with an indulgent smile. “One ship was found drifting in the Betreka Nebula, and some say that the other ships were somewhere in that sector.”
“Perhaps. But the location of the other six ships, and of the colony itself, remains one of the great mysteries of the Empire.”
Wide-eyed, the boy said, “They never found it?”
“No, my son—at least not yet. Now finish your lIngta’. It is time to sleep.”
The boy wolfed down the rest of his meat, then prepared his bedroll. After doing so, he turned to his parents. “Mother? Father?”
“Yes, son?” they said in unison.
“Some day, I will grow up to be the greatest warrior in the Empire and I will find the Ch’gran colony!”
Again, Father laughed, this time so hard that the boy was sure that no game animal would come within half a qelIqamof the tent for the next several turns. “Of that, my son, I have no doubt at all. But for now, sleep. Tomorrow, we shall return home and tell your sister and brother of your first hunt.”
Content with the day’s accomplishments, the boy drifted off to sleep. He dreamt of finding the Ch’gran colony and bringing it home to Qo’noS in much the same way he brought the lIngta’ back to the tent. Today he proved himself a hunter, and some day he would be the finest hunter of all, and bring glory to the Empire…
Part 1
Sound! Sound!
My Loud
War—Trumpets
Chapter 1
Central Command
Vessel Sontok
“Entering standard orbit around the fifth planet.”
Standing in the center of the bridge of the Cardassian survey vessel Sontok,Gul Monor clasped his hands behind his back. “Excellent. Full sensor scan, Ekron. I want confirmation of those zenite readings.”
“Yes, sir.” Glinn Ekron manipulated a few commands on his console, situated just below and perpendicular to Monor’s command chair, which was on a raised platform at the bridge’s rear. The console’s lighting illuminated Ekron’s face, casting shadows that were accentuated by his unusually thick facial ridges. Monor thought the ridges made his second-in-command look like the statue on the grave of Monor’s father— which of course looks nothing like Father, but what do you expect from those idiots who call themselves sculptors these days?The shadows on Ekron’s face actually were an improvement, as it cut down on the resemblance to the statue. Monor’s father, of course, looked much more noble in life—he had a good, strong Cardassian face. Ekron, on the other hand, just had an ordinary face, one that didn’t stand out in the least. Nobody would ever notice that face, except maybe to comment on how thick the ridges were. Occasionally, Monor cared enough to wonder whether or not Ekron cultivated that.